Clang: Without the ring, there is no sacrifice, with out the sacrifice there is no congregation, without the congregation there'll be no... more... me. Clang: We must find the ring. Bhuta: Has nobody looked in the wash basin? [Ringo's hand is trapped in the sandwich dispenser] Ringo: Hey someone's got hold of me finger! John: Are you trying to attract attention again? John: Stop dragging things down to your own level, it's immature son. Ringo: Well I... Well I thought she was a sandwich, 'til she went spare on me finger. Bhuta: It's cold, it's a cold place. [a failed attempt to steal Ringo's ring] Ringo: Hey! Have you been messing about with me in my kip? John: Eh? Ringo: No, I mean, you know, with a fishing rod. John: I wouldn't touch it with a plastic one. What are you doing on the floor? Ringo: I'm tired. [Offering gold to Paul] Clang: Hey Be-a-tle! How about this ay?... Shufty... Gold! All of it pure gold in easy to handle denominational nuggets. Not marked, not a mark on 'em, ay? Paul: No, I 'ate them. Ahme: No! Paul: I, I do! I mean they make your fingers go green. Ahme: It is not the Beatle with the ring, he. Paul: Aren't I? Clang: [offering a bagful of gold] Psst! Hey, Be-a-tle! You shall have fun, yes? John: No thanks, I'm rhythm guitar and mouth organ. Clang: Quickly, quickly. Bhuta: Yes, yes. Clang: In, in. Bhuta: Right, right. Clang: All in together now Sir. [Harrods van won't start] Clang: What! Arrgghh! Bhuta: Shilling Clang: Shilling? Bhuta: Oh, Shilling. Clang: Shilling, now. Bhuta: Off, off. Ringo: What was it that first attracted you to me? John: Well, you're very polite, aren't you? John:
[to Ringo whose arm is trapped inside a mail box]
What are you doing? Ringo: Posting a letter. Ringo: There's more here than meets the eye! George: Ho ho. John: Ho. George: Ho ho. John: Ho. George: Ho ho ho John: Ho ho! George: Ho ho. John: Huh ho. [to an Indian man standing on his head] John: Doesn't the blood rush to your head Sir? [In the restaurant kitchen] George: Doesn't the eastern flavor come rather expensive? [Paul to belly dancer] Paul: Doesn't the blood rush to your stomach? Ahme: He has three hours to live. Paul: Say no more. Ahme: I can say no more. John: What's this? Ringo: It's a season ticket. What do you think it is? John: Oh. I like a lot of seasoning in me soup. George: There's somebody been in this soup. Professor Foot: MIT was after me, you know. Wanted me to rule the world for them. George: What's your electric bill like? Algernon: Sort of a long counterfoil! John: How do you feel? Ringo: I used to use me hands. John: He used to use his hands. Ringo: I like surgery, it gives you a sense of out look, you know. Professor Foot: Voltage, VOLTAGE! Up up. Up up Paul: Up, up. John: Up Ringo: Are you sure I'm earthed? Algernon: Oh no! Er, hold on, thank you. Professor Foot: He's an idiot. Degree in woodwork. I ask you! Algernon: Stop him? Me? It's more than my job's worth to stop him once he gets started. He's out to rule the world... if he can get a government grant. Professor Foot: It's the brain drain, his brain's draining. Ahme: Hold! Release him or I shoot, and I am a dead-eye shot, shooting. Jeweller: We have all sorts of little problems like this, sir. Some of them matrimonial! George: Hey, there might be some insurance.